Nobody's Business
by Dush-kins
Summary: "Czech cried over anything; but all he asked was a simple question! A rhetorical one, at that. But, it looked as though Czech had missed the point again." In which France blatantly harasses Czech to find out the status of her virginity.


**A/N:** And yet another drabble.

This time, its France/Czech! Or is it...? Yes, so, read to find out!

**Disclaimer:** I have no claims to Hetalia.

**Nobody's Business**

_"Virginity is such a personal thing. You can't judge anyone on it. A lot of young women want to save themselves for the man who they think they will love forever."_ – Joyce Brothers

"You can't wait forever."

Czech looked up, her large, glassy eyes reflecting her inner timorousness. It was almost as though she were afraid of looking France in the eye. "What d-do you mean?" she stammered.

"I know why it is you're so reluctant to give into me. But know, child, that you can't wait for that person."

The young pre-teen before him pouted. "I'm not a child."

She was missing the point. France smiled devilishly. "So then why not show me your adulthood? You're a virgin, are you not?"

Czech blushed brightly, the pink tint reaching all the way up to her hairline. Her eyes welled up with tears, and France almost felt like rolling his eyes. Czech cried over anything; but all he asked was a simple question! A rhetorical one, at that. But, it looked as though Czech had missed the point again. She clamped her arms around herself, her gaze falling down to the floor. Her chin rested on her chest. "That's non-none of your business, you know. T-That was such a rude question!"

"But it was but a question, my dear. A simple, yes or no question: have you ever experienced the act of love?"

The girl remained quiet, rocking back and forth lightly, and if France listened closely enough, he could've sworn he heard Czech humming to herself. What type of music was that? It sounded nothing like hers—but at the thought of Czech's music, of all the instruments she could play exceptionally well, France was struck with an idea.

"You're most special person, does he love your music?"

Czech's rocking slowed, though she didn't lift her gaze off of the floor. After a few long moments of silence, Czech mumbled, "He does."

"Does he love to listen to you play live?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Have you ever done a private performance for him?"

Czech shrugged. "Sure I-I have."

"And tell me Czech, in the midst of playing that piano of yours, has this man ever taken you by the shoulders, slammed you against the top of your piano, and ravished you?"

Czech's head shot up, her eyes white with horror. "N-NO! No no no no no, what's_ wrong _with you?"

France grinned wryly, eyes alive with amusment. "Has he ever taken you in your bedroom at night? Or perhaps in the shower? On your kitchen table?"

The girl clamped her hands around her ears, humming loudly to herself—again, a tune that was not hers. A stray tear escaped and hit the ground, its wetness barely noticeable to France and immediately forgotten.

"Czech? Czech." France came over and gently took hold of her wrists, prying them away from her ears with more force than he had projected—she was stronger than she looked. Czech refused to meet his gaze. "Oh, Czech. Sweet, innocent, virginal Czech…" He wrapped his arms around the shaking girl, pulled her into him. "You are so beautiful, don't you realize? Don't waste your beauty on a man that you can never have."

Czech looked up, and for the first time looked France in the eye. He flinched upon seeing her facial expression—her eyes were dark with a sudden maturity, and her frown was deep and unnatural-looking. And when she spoke, it was loud and clear, with none of the softness or the stuttering. "It's not who you think it is."

France raised an eyebrow. "No? But, I never directly said who I thought it was. How do you know that I'm wrong?"

"Because," and now it was Czech's time to smile knowingly, tauntingly. "You kept on saying 'he'. All you men are alike, you know. You think that us girls can't survive with each other alone."

With that, Czech slipped out of France's arms, elusive as a butterfly. She laughed as she ran away, like a child, like the wind, like a girl who may not be a virgin after all.

* * *

><p><strong><span>AN:** Sooooooooooooooooooooooooo. No historical notes here!

Pervy France is pervy France, as always. We know and love it xD When it comes to who France was insinuating about, Czech's "special someone", I had Slovakia in mind. But I am no Slovakia/Czech shipper, as you all know. But I just wanted to write this little drabble here to show that appearances can be, ehm, deceiving ;)

And the girl that Czech was referring to! … I don't fucking know. It can be whoever you want it to be. I know next to nothing on European history. I want to say Liechtenstein, because she and Czech are around the same physical age, but again, it can be whoever.

And that's all. Review?


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